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Day Three: 3am - noon

Sometimes you win, sometimes you . . . don't.

Corona Park is a public place. At any given time there might be kids playing baseball, or Hispanics playing soccer, families barbecuing under the trees, or any number of people walking or biking through on the same path on which we were undertaking our odyssey.

Mostly they seemed not to be particularly aware of us - men and women, all with a race number pinned to our front and moving inexorably forward – some chatting as they ran along together, some alone and gently smiling to themselves, some grim and ashen-faced.

Occasionally a passer-by would enquire, or, knowing already, would offer us a word of encouragement. It made one feel good.

Devabala

It was afternoon. I was limping along with Devabala from Szekesfehervar, the oldest town in Hungary. He was exhorting me to take some painkillers.

There were quite a number of passers-by on the path. Towards us came three black teenagers. They looked at us and one of them shouted as they passed, “You’re going to lose!”

Devabala and I stumped on a few paces and then turned to each other. “A philosopher,” I said.

A few more paces and we turned to each other again. “He’s right of course,” said Devabala.

A few more paces and then we both laughed heartily.

It cheered us no end.

It wasn’t clear if the young philosopher had specifically meant me, who looked decidedly like a loser, or both of us. Either way, it struck us as true. So often in the field of ultra-running one hears the view expressed that all who compete are winners. But if that is true – and it certainly is - might it not also be true, as our wise young teacher suggested, that we are also all losers?